


Tag Team

by cTeh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, No Smut, Other, angel!cas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29803638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cTeh/pseuds/cTeh
Summary: Dean Winchester, a man with many secrets and a dark past, is on a mission to find his brother, who has disappeared under mysterious circumstances years ago. On his way to Harding county, South Dakota, he meets a man without a name and home, who seems to be just as broken as he is. They might not meet on good terms, but their paths will inevitably lead to the same destination, whether they know it or not.--I chose to not use any warnings in order to avoid spoilers for this fic, so read with caution! This is an entirely smut-free fic as well, since I personally think it hurts the flow of the story, so dont read if youre just intending to get your rocks off.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester





	Tag Team

As the man saw the moon rising in the sky, the air clean and crisp around him, a shiver crept up his neck, sending a tremble through his shoulders and down his spine.   
Darkness was already creeping in, the slither of light over the horizon growing fainter as the minutes ticked on. It wasn't snowing, thankfully, but it could start up again any second. It had been a turbulent winter, and the man was grateful that it was nearing its' end. He wasn't prepared for harsh weather, not as much as he should be. His head was entirely uncovered, dark brown hair whipping through the wind and creating the image of someone unhinged and delirious.  
Only a flimsy trenchcoat protected him from the creeping cold, dragging atop the thick layer of snow that was covering the ground. He gripped his coat tighter, wove it around his body in a manner that was supposed to protect from the icy wind, but the motion was only out of habit and didn't provide any warmth. The man had been walking in the snow for far too long, his steps growing sluggish over the course of the hike, dragging through the snow and carving a deep, wide trail into the formerly unbroken surface.   
The white powder, (which you couldn't even call powder anymore, it was too packed together), drained his body heat with a frightening speed. He couldn't really feel his feet anymore, but he was sure that they were already soaking wet, and the numbness slowly snaked its' way up his legs, threatening to swallow him whole and leave him still and frozen at the side of the road.   
It was indeed a road that the man was walking next to, made of trampled dirt and already halfway obscured by freshly fallen flakes. If the storm continued, the road would become impossible to drive on, that, the man knew. And that was not good for him, not good at all. So far, he had been relying on kind strangers picking him up, often times in the last moments before he would collapse from exhaustion. He had a habit of forgetting the time, walking for far too long, through night and day, as if he had forgotten that he needed rest and sustenance in order to keep on living.   
The man was not without a home, per sé, but rather chose not to use it in favor of travelling the world, on search for... something. His wants and needs were obscure, difficult to describe, difficult to understand.   
He alone knew what he wanted, what his aim was, and he was determined. Determined enough to waltz through the middle of winter, without protection or a visible goal, on his own terms, and with no one but him knowing where his destination lay.   
Though, he wasn't immune to the elements, and found himself in dire need of help from time to time. 

The quiet of a snow covered world is incomparable to anything one has ever experienced. When the only thing reaching your ears is the crunch of your own boots, pressing into the snow in a rythmic pattern so familiar to you that you can almost blend it out entirely, the feeling of solitude can overwhelm you. Snow, deep snow, out in the middle of nowhere. It grants the illusion that you are alone in the world, entirely on your own, that no living soul except for you has ever set foot on the planet you inhabit. The man was aware of this being untrue, he knew that the space he was inhabiting was shared and cherished by many, but still, the feeling overcame him, and he let it sit inside his mind, relishing in the illusion. He liked the idea of having the world to himself. Not to conquer it, and take it away from every organism that called it its' home, but to be able to take all the wonders it provided into himself, and relish in them, uninterrupted and at peace. 

His crunching steps carried on through the snow, though his pace slowed as exhaustion finally started to set in. He needed rest, maybe a place to sleep, some warm food. But the cold tundra couldn't provide that for him, staring back at him with a kind of indifference that only nature could express, stubborn in its' ways and unable to be persuaded by a sad face, or a dying scream.   
The man wished to copy its' indifference. He wanted to be unfazed by the cold. Wanted to look away without granting a second glance to suffering and pain. Out there, through freezing winds, and unbroken silence, and snowflakes that started to fall just now, he could almost achieve it.   
But then, a slight unease overcame him. He registered the falling snow, and his blood ran cold, maybe even literally, and he was sure of his impending doom. The light had faded out of the sky completely by now, and there was nothing to light his way, the almost full moon now obscured by clouds that carried his death inside them.   
Even the wind picked up, and it made the soft snow feel like hail against the mans exposed face. It howled mercilessly now, breaking the silence that had held on for so long, guiding the falling snow through the night like furious dancers, tumbling and jumping around, driven by a force that couldn't even be seen.   
The mans hair, formerly a dark brown, was already covered in a thick layer of powder.  
He tucked his head in, cursing to himself, and apologizing immediately after. It seemed as if the curse had hurt or frightened him in some obscure way.   
He kept on walking, or rather wading, through thickening snow. Cold, snowy weather brings fog. The dense kind, that impacts your field of vision, like a thick curtain obscuring everything in a certain distance. Trough the densely falling snow, this effect was multiplied into infinity, denying his eyes from scouring even the ground in front of his feet, much less the terrain around him.   
The man had heard of people going crazy in the snow, though those accounts, made by western settlers, were more likely attributed to abuse and molestation of inuit women, so he didn't fear for his sanity. That was, until the light hit him. It startled him, made him feel disoriented for a moment, and suddenly so small against the white canvas of the world. The sun was long gone, and there was no sign of civilization anywhere around him, and so he briefly thought that he had gone mad. He shook his head, and closed is eyes, briefly and harsh, to maybe force some sense into his head. When he opened them, the light was still there. He stopped walking.   
The light was coming from behind him, illuminating every single one of the wildly dancing snowflakes, barely lighting the way through their denseness. It was also moving closer, and through the snowy plane, muffled by layers upon layers of ice, the man heard an engine. He jumped at the sound. Even moreso than the darkness, the silence had been prevailing for so long, hours, maybe days, and now it was disturbed, interrupted by the vehicle that was now slowly approaching through the snow. The driver was cautious, paid attention to where the road should be and where it dropped off, and went at a pace slow enough in order to not slip on the ice, but fast enough to maybe, hopefully, make it to the next town over, before the storm engulfed them entirely.  
The man in the trenchcoat turned around. The vehicle was almost in range, maybe 30 meters behind him, and it would soon overtake him. The man wasn't willing to let his chance of survival slide so easily. He had conquered places and challenges that most beings couldn't even dream of, and he wasn't about to die to a snow storm. The man took a deep breath, straightened his back, and stepped onto the road.

-

The driver had been on the road for a few hours now, hoping to get to the next town over before the sun went down. All hope quickly went out the window when the snow started falling again and again, covering the road in front of him in an ever thickening layer, which the car was already having trouble with. He had to slow down more and more as the sun slowly disappeared over the horizon, cursing his job and the extremes he had to go to a lot of the time. He would much rather be on the other side of the state, drinking a beer and enjoying the warmth of the pub he called his home.   
But all the wishing didn't help. He was stuck, driving under 40mph, sometimes even slower, and was in dire need of rest. The sun had just peeked over the horizon when he had started his trip, so his mind was already wandering to dark places, but he couldn't stop, for fear of his frozen remains only being found weeks, if not months later.   
The driver had only stopped a handful of times over the course of the day, to take a quick leek or go over the details of his task once more, doing so everytime that his hope was beginning to fade.   
Driving kept his mind away from endulging in the most shadowed parts of his mind, though it could only distract him for so long with no other car in sight for hours, and the blindingly white snow robbing him of all thoughts. It practically drained him, having to watch the homogenous terrain fly by, not even interrupted by flora and fauna, one of whom had been buried in ice, the other one hiding in burrows and caves, not daring to venture out during the type of weather that would kill them faster than any predator ever could.   
Which was why, when he saw the dark shape in his headlights, standing tall and steady in his path, he almost had a heart attack. He thought he had finally gone mad.   
It must have been a hallucination, brought upon him by too many hours spent driving, too many sleepless nights, the cold and the darkness. Maybe it was a shadow, or a trick from the light. Nonetheless, he slowly pushed on the brake, resisting the urge to slam his foot down, in fear of slipping over the icy road. The car came to a slow halt, illuminating the creature in front of it. It was a standoff, one in which neither of the participants knew the others face, but only knew of potential threats that might have been lurking in the unknown.   
The creature moved first. It slowly stepped toward the driver, and even though he couldn't see its' face, he knew that it was staring at him. It came closer, step by step, its' wide frame outlined by the high beams it was standing in. It seemed to have an everchanging silhouette, its' edges constricting and moving with the wind, and it kept coming closer. The driver was close to pressing down the gas pedal, flooring it over whatever was approaching him and just speeding off. His engine was still running, he could do it, but before he could put his thoughts into action, a face became visible. Out there, only a few meters from him, now finally fully illuminated, stood a man. The changing silhouette could be attributed to a type of long coat, which was blowing in the howling wind, giving the impression of something bigger, more dangerous approaching. But in the light, he was just a man. And he was looking at him. Frankly, they were staring at eachother, both probably weary to the same extent, but also knowing that what they needed was right in front of them. For the driver, it was company, something, someone to keep his mind off other things, a break from the infinite whiteness that was stretching all around him. And for the man, it was shelter, protection from the elements, a way to keep on going through the night without succumbing to the cold. They could have kept on staring like that for ages, had the man outside not moved. He approached the passenger side door, his eyes never leaving that of the driver, watching him, maybe like a hawk stalking its' prey, or maybe like the prey judging the danger of predator in comparison to the world he was turning his back to.   
Whichever it was, predator or prey, he had made his decision. He bowed down until he could look through the passenger window. And then he knocked.   
The sound sent a slight jolt through the drivers body, startling him out of his shocked state, and catapulting him into a present in which he had to make a decision. Slowly, he moved over, and cracked the window slightly. The ice cold punch of wind that greeted him through the small opening solidified his decision before the man outside could even open his mouth. It was a miracle that he had survived this long in that kind of weather, and the driver reminded himself that he had had enough on his conscience already.   
The man outside spoke. 

"May I enter your vehicle?"  
It threw the driver off-guard. He had expected begging, sobbing, maybe even promises of future debt, if he would just release him from the grip of the forces of nature. Instead, the mans' tone was neutral, almost apologetic for inconveniencing him. The driver cleared his throat.   
"You a vampire or something? No need to ask, you wouldn't make it another hour out there. Pretty lucky I came by."  
The man paused for a moment, then nodded, and he opened the car door. The freezing cold that greeted the driver was almost too much for him. He squinted his eyes and withdrew from the passenger side as far as he could without seeming rude. The man, however, seemed unfazed. He wasn't even wearing a hat. He calmly stepped inside, shaking off as much snow as possible beforehand, and closed the door behind him. The driver sighed with relief. He looked at the man expectantly. The man looked back, completely still, as if he wasn't sure what to do. The driver rolled his eyes.   
"The window."  
The man nodded again, rolled the window up, and turned back to the driver.   
"Vampires do not exist. The average person should be aware of that."   
The driver just stared at him. The mans voice was unusually deep, maybe even a little raspy. The driver attributed it to the cold weather that his lungs had been exposed to. He raised an eyebrow.  
"Yeah, you're welcome, I'll gladly save your life, any time man."   
He shook his head, turned his eyes on the road, and started driving again.   
"My apologies. Your earlier statement made me forget my manners. I am very thankful for your help."   
They sat in silence. The driver noticed that the man wasn't shivering. He just sat there, eyes fixed on the road, hands folded in his lap. He wasn't wearing gloves either. They were both plagued by the same questions. Who are you, what are you doing out here, where are you going? But they could sense that the other was somehow different from the average, and they respected eachothers privacy in a way that would seem insane to any other person.  
Everyone has heard horror stories about hitchhikers, most of them ending in brutal deaths, stolen vehicles, missing person reports. The men, however, were unbothered by those sentiments, and it scared them both that the person sitting next to them was seemingly of the same mindset.   
The silence prevailed for a while, though the tension didn't rise, only staying at the same point as it were when the men had first locked eyes.   
Though, the driver was getting skittish again, in need of interaction and stimulants, the need growing stronger now that a potential source was right beside him. He took a deep breath.   
"So, uh, how long have you been out there? Next town is miles away, no way you could have walked that."  
The man on his passenger seat seemed unfazed by the question.   
"I did."  
The driver waited for a follow up, which never came.   
"You.. did what?"  
"Walk." 

The driver laughed out loud, the first time in what seemed like ages. He appreciated dry humor.   
"No, seriously man, you just hitchhiking out here? The town were Im headed has three people living in it, that is not a safe way of travel in these parts. What, you were just hoping someone would stop by and carry you to your destination?"  
The man turned to him, his expression unchanged.  
"You found me. I am assuming you are taking me to your destination."  
The drivers laughter had died down. He was furrowing his eyebrows, growing ever so slightly more weary of his unlikely companion.   
"I mean, I am, but you can't count on that. You must have been out here for a while."   
He frowned.   
"Seriously, how'd you come this far?"  
His companion turned away again. He paused for a moment, as if he was calculating his next response, and the risk that came with it.   
"I walked. I am very durable. I have the necessary qualifications."  
The driver nodded in understanding, suddenly a lot more relaxed.   
"Ah, you're a vet. Where'd you serve?"   
"Vietnam."   
That made the driver sneak a quick look at his companions face. He didn't look old enough. Not at all.   
"You aged well, if that's the case."  
His companion nodded.  
"I am told that a lot. It confuses me, though maybe it shouldn't. I do look quite young."   
The driver kept sneaking glances at this strange, way-too-young-looking veteran on his passenger seat, and uneasiness grew inside of him. Something started to feel off. It wasn't what the man had been saying, not exactly. It made sense, sort of; when you didn't think too much about it, he might be telling the truth. But the way he was talking was... odd. Very calculated, straight to the point, no joking around or sarcasm. If the driver didn't know better, he'd think the man was on the spectrum, though he knew that the military didn't take kindly to things like that, especially not in the 70s.   
Unless, of course, the man was lying. Maybe he was a lunatic. Maybe he was confused, didn't know what was going on, mistook him for someone else. The driver was thinking himself into a panic, and blurted out the only thing that he could think of into the slowly growing silence.   
"I'm an officer. You can find my badge in my wallet if you want to see it. Just letting you know. Uhm, I could get you outta trouble. But I can also give you trouble. If I have to."   
The man didn't respond at first. The driver started sweating a little.   
"Detective Hills. Is my name. Thought it might just be time to introduce myself."  
The man on his passenger seat turned to him, and seemed to stare right through him, directly into his soul. There was a pause. One beat. Two beats. The man dropped his voice, almost reducing it to a whisper. 

"Do you feel threatened, officer?"  
The drivers' heart jumped. He whipped his head around, barely registering how cold the eyes of the man sitting next to him looked, and slammed his foot on the brakes, not caring about the potential of slipping on the ground. The car came to a sudden halt, yanking both of them forwards and into their seatbelts.   
The driver quickly freed himself, climbed backwards out of the car and shouted: "Out! Now!"   
He had briefly forgotten about the cold.  
The sudden icyness of his surroundings shocked him, and the wind made him feel small and vulnerable, but he stood his ground and kept his eyes on the man.   
The man, calm as ever, followed suit. He gently closed the door, and lifted his head. He stared right into the drivers eyes, piercing him in place with solely his gaze. The wind was whipping around him, furious and loud, but instead of bothering him, it seemed to fill him with life. He stood tall. And he looked threatening. Like a predator.  
"There is no need for violence, officer."  
"Jesus christ dude, you're an even bigger creep than I feared. Put your hands on your head and stand against the car!"   
The driver slammed the drivers side door, sending a loud echo through the snow filled night. He pulled a gun seemingly out of nowhere, and aimed it at the man in front of him, who slowly lifted his hands toward his head, still calm, still with no trace of emotion on his face.   
The driver quickly went around the car, and stood behind the man, aiming directly at his head. He was taller than the man, if only by a little.   
"Listen man, I will not ask you again. Who are you and what do you want from me?" 

Everything that happened next seemed to do so in only a few seconds, leaving no room or time for the driver to take a breath or realise what was going on.   
Suddenly, his gun was on the floor, knocked out of his hands by a force too fast to be seen by the human eye. He was grabbed by the collar of his jacket, which was made out of thick leather, and sturdy enough to hold his weight without problem. His back was now pressed against the car, and he felt cold steel against his throat, pressing against the exposed skin in a way that made his blood run colder than the icy wind could ever achieve.   
He was staring right at the man, into eyes as blue and icy as the world around them, and probably even more deadly.   
"I could ask you the same,"  
The man stared back at the driver, his expression unmoved as ever.  
"Officer."   
The driver was frozen in place, not daring to move a muscle. He was scared. It seemed obvious in the way he acted, but he wasn't used to the feeling, not like this anyway. The threats he usually faced were familiar. He grew up with them, knew how to handle them. Knew how to handle the fear. It's a very particular type of fear, when you know exactly what's coming, and you've dealt with it many times. It scares you, but does so in a way that you know, that you can contain. This wasn't the case now.   
"Tell me your name."  
"I already told you man, it's Hills. Look, I don't want any trouble, let's just-"   
The cold steel pressed harder against the soft skin on his neck.   
"Name."  
The driver closed his eyes.  
"Dean. It's Dean, okay? Dean Winchester."   
Deans' eyes opened, and he saw the face of a man that seemed to have never felt an emotion in his life. Not fear, not anger, not hurt. And certainly not mercy.   
"Dean."

His name lay thick on the mans tongue. The man licked his lips, and let his eyes wander over the tundra around them, almost longingly. The snow was beginning to die down. Then, his gaze returned to Dean.   
"I shouldn't have let you come near me. You are in danger by being near me." The man let his gaze drop, if only for a second, an unreadable expression on his face.   
Dean squeezed his eyes shut, and pressed out words through his fear, trying his best to not let them get stuck in his throat.   
"What are you? You're unlike any vampire I've ever seen."   
The mans eyes narrowed.   
"I am not a vampire. I am not otherwordly. I am a man with desires."   
"That's somehow worse."   
Dean quickly shut his mouth when he felt the blade press into his throat hard enough to restrict his breathing. He croaked out a hasty apology, and could have almost cried with relief when the blade was removed from him.   
The man had put it away.   
"I have use for you. For now. I.. do not know how to operate that vehicle."  
The man gestured toward the car behind Dean.   
"You will drive me. To the next town. I believe its' name is Ludlow. I have buisiness there."   
Dean was tempted. Now that the knife was safely tucked away, he wanted to jump on the man, hold him down and choke him out until he couldn't move, and then floor it out of there. He knew that it wouldn't work, though. Whoever the man was, he was superior to him in almost every way. He could probably outmaneuver him no matter what Dean tried, and then, Dean was certain, kill him without hesitation. He had to take the chance at survival that the man was offering him, and run with it.   
Dean looked up. The clouds were beginning to clear now, and the moon shone through, bright and almost perfectly round. He had a job to do, and he had to do it quickly.   
"Alright. I don't know what your deal is, I don't wanna know, just please leave me alive, okay? I got stuff to do. Important stuff."   
The man nodded and backed away. Dean kept his eyes on him, and slowly moved back toward the drivers side. He never stopped looking at the man, and he returned the favour, so they were staring at eachother once more, maybe even with a seemingly deeper understanding of the others' character. As Dean began sitting down, he briefly thought about pressing the pedal to the metal and getting the hell out of there, but before the thought could even finish forming, the man sat down next to him in one swift motion. He looked at Dean expectantly. Dean just sighed, turned his eyes on the road, and started driving once again. 

-

The drive was quiet. It was to be expected, after the little fiasco earlier, though it didn't bother Dean too much. His mind had finally gotten something to latch onto. The mysterious stranger provided distraction from all the various dark and bloody thoughts inside Deans' mind, and despite the grisly circumstances of their arrangement, he was thankful for his presence. It provided him with the opportunity to let his mind wander in different directions. Who, or maybe even what, was the one sitting next to him? Where did he come from? What was his mission? In Deans' mind, he had picked up particularly skilled and crazy serial killer, who had made it his mission to eradicate the entirety of the Harding' population, a task that was probably achievable in a few months of dedicated work.   
Or he really was of a different nature, a new monster, undiscovered through the ages, now finally revealing itself for.. for what? What reason could there really be?  
As Deans' thoughts kept wandering, the speculations grew wider, more chaotic. It helped him deal with the situation he was in. His companion hadn't moved a muscle since they had started driving again, made no sound, only blinked very occasionally, as if his body had to remind itself how to function normally every now and then.   
It was creeping Dean out even more, and he breathed a deep sigh of relief when he finally saw the faint glow of a light in the distance. The air had cleared over the course of the drive, making it easier to see the road and the surroundings, therefore enabling Dean to drive at a slightly higher speed in the last few hours.   
As they approached the lonely beacon in the distance, Dean tried to force words out of his lungs, failing to do so for fear of saying the wrong thing, until he was finally able to direct a sentence at the man.   
"So, uh, I think Ludlow's coming up. That your destination?"  
Dean tried his best to make his voice seem strong and steady, though both men sensed the uneasiness, and heard the slight tremble that accompanied the spoken words.  
The man nodded, the first movement of his in a couple of hours.   
The light was very close now, in a comfortable walking distance, and so Dean slowly started to pull over.  
"Ill park the car here. Don't know what kinda folk is creeping around these parts. Better to not make it easier for them."   
His tone was growing steadier, more forceful. He wanted the man out, away from his car, away from him.   
Another nod followed his statement. Dean assumed that this meant he was in the clear, and swiftly brought the car to a halt.   
He tried to release as much tension from his shoulders as possible, and turned to face the man. He was struggling to find the right words, when the man finally spoke up.   
"Thank you."  
Dean blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected thankfulness, not after feeling the cold steel against his throat. The man continued.  
"I hope I did not scare you. It is in my nature, though not my intent."  
He turned away from Dean, his gaze landing on the building that was now visible, illuminated by a singular light.   
"I believe that there is the local tavern. You should go there, gather your strength."  
His eyes turned back to Dean. They seemed a little less icy than before, but the sheer coldness that resided in them wouldn't falter.  
"You seem to have a challenging task in front of you."   
The man bowed his head, opened the door, and stepped out into the freezing winter night without another word. Dean was bewildered. Out of all the things he had expected to happen, this option seemed to be the least likely one. And yet, he sat in his car, unharmed, watching the stranger walk away into the darkness.   
-

**Author's Note:**

> First spn fic Ive ever written or posted. Please go easy on me. I have done a bunch of research for this fic already, and I know a whole lot of whats going to happen, but i dont have an ending in mind... yet.   
> This isnt really a Destiel fic if im honest. Yes, their relationship is a part of the story, but not the main focus. I just wanted to tell a tale when I started writing this.   
> \-   
> Also, this chapter is only half the lentgh of what I wanted it to be, but I hope its alright anyway.


End file.
